Eccentric Kyn

I figure that, taking a scientific view, there has to be a rational explanation for my weirdness. Let's use the unbeatable scapegoat of genetics. Well, my family calls the room adjoining my brother's room the TV room. However, there hasn't been a television in there for a decade -- longer than either of my siblings have breathed air. Though the three of us have an excuse -- very strange parents.

My father owns two unopened packages of books. They are very old and the return adress is long washed off. Why has he never removed them from their shell of faded brown paper? "Because I know what's inside."

My mother has different problems with books, namely reading them all night long. When she does sleep, she is often cursed with prophetic dreams.

Desk moved.

Tic-tac-toe: laughably simple, but what isn't?

Ten Things that Happened Today

1. It rained
2. It stopped raining
3. Walking
4. Kelsey admired the attic (and couldn't decide what to do about the corner)
5. I lost at Risk to Kelsey
6. I watched Ice Age with my siblings (the diagram we drew in history making it that much funnier)
7. My poor sister felt sick
8. I played the pavane on the clarinet better than ever before and almost died of asphixiation
9. I wondered how to spell that
10. Jenna came home!

Hopefully Em will be feeling better soon, 'cause it sucks when little kids are ill.

Alternating?

In all probability, the first and only time I post a somewhat political rant.

Conservatism is not just for stupid people.

When I say conservatism, I am referring to politics. I am sure that conservatism as a more general term is not for stupid people either. I’m trying to make a point, though: that everyone deserves to be listened to, and in this extremely polarized society no one should be judged by mere beliefs. Hey, you might be surprised at how often that happens.

My father. (You knew I was going there.) My father is not Conservative because he thinks that gays/abortion/etceteraetcetera is evil. He favours that party because he believes that all governments are somewhat corrupt, and the smaller the government the more personal freedom. If this is truly attainable through voting a certain way, I could be a conservative too, as that seems to me to be as good a reason as can be expected.

Now, my dad is a scientist. He has a degree in biology (and an MD, of course) and is without doubt the most intelligent man I have met. He is also a religious man, which brings me to one of my favourite rants: religion and science do not by definition contradict one another. Yet I digress. Back to my point.

One can arrive at the same conclusion by coming from totally different angles, and there are stupid people on both sides of the spectrum. To fall into the trap of labelling an entire group of people as stupid is clearly the stupidest thing there is, because regardless of how highly they value the principle of equality, these people are effectively saying that only people who share their beliefs are equal to them.

Sometimes I wish it wasn’t so much easier to have No Opinion.

Set me free.

Worked up.

Listen to this. For every pound of shrimp caught wild, anywhere from four to ten pounds of marine life ("bycatch") is also caught -- and subsequently discarded as decaying waste, shovelled back into the ocean.

And farmed shrimp is hardly better: farms dump pesticides into rivers, which have already killed a quarter of the world's mangrove er, groves (where lots of species of birds and fish live and breed, and which also help hold the coastline together by preventing erosion). This is also, of course, detrimental to local -- and often poor -- communities.

Skeptical? Read this -- and weep. http://www.grist.org/news/maindish/2002/07/18/nijhuis-shrimp/

So here's the story. Let's stop eating shrimp. I'm sure we can survive without it (after all, Ariel is a vegan), and it might also make a tiny little bit of difference in eternity.

With a little help from Microsoft, I've come up with a useful sign. Feel free to print it out and hang it wherever you can. Wear it as a badge if you like. So I've finally found a cause I care about enough to post on. (Foie gras is bad too. Don't eat it.) Microscopic? Maybe. But it's something to start with, right? And if I come up with a truly great cause to devote my life to...I will drag you guys into it, don't worry.

Thinking about...skiing?

Glades.

The trails in between trees, riddled with unexpected powder and ice patches. The obsession of nearly every experienced skier. The answer to everything.

Exaggeration? Hardly. I know someone who snowboarded for three years before returning to skiing. When I asked him why, he shrugged and said that glades were better on skis.

So what else is the answer to everything?

Well, I'm off for now, but I want to start a poll. Use comments to vote either for www.explodingdog.com or http://nataliedee.com ...I'm pretty sure who's gonna be voting for which, but I'd like your opinion please please.

What would you sacrifice for a new way of seeing?

Alicia-inspired free association

Penned on June 6th, 2006.

twilight; whisper; crumble; fall; death; chasm; burning; flicker; forest; ashes; quiet; murmur; listless; sacred; fortune; ballast; interrupted; Siamese; bacon; marzipan; wind; followers; haven; hush; calling; telephone; booth; ticket; frozen; market; porcelain; ambiguous; confused; fetching; moles; chicken; acid; faked; wishes; dreams; eyes; hands; laughter; shade; leaves; rooftop; flying; clouds; walrus; barnacle.

Well, I just can’t top that last one.

Çok bulut var.

Me: It's the most pointless thing ever. Steering toy boats in circles.
Mom: Everything is pointless.
Me: Yeah, but this is even pointless on the surface.

Kelsey's on the grass, Alicia's dark head resting on her knee. Kaj and I are on the swings. I have an especially creaky one, and every time I rush toward the sky it reminds me of its needs...the need for care, for the occasional oiling. Right now, though, I'm not concerned. My own needs are my obsession, and I need more than anything else to swing, just swing.

It's about eight, eight thirty on a friday evening. We've been wandering, have come upon a sandy area with a row of swings and a few see-saws. We've discussed why sandals are called sandals and how Kelsey's father was once given a sugar pill in the army as medecine to help him "when he couldn't go on any longer." Now we're quiet, soaking in the evening. And inside the girl on the swings, the music of a thousand dreams begins to play, a quiet humming from the corner.

Kaj is slowing down now, and when his feet nearly scrape the coarse sand, he jumps off. Yet I, a free bird, I spread my wings and fly away, soaring toward the slowly setting sun.

Faces become a blur. Noises drop away. The only world I can see is the one that lives within, and memories begin to float to the surface of the deep, deep water. With Jenna, in her backyard, urging our faithful steeds toward the clouds. The end of a lonely summer, alone at Strathearn, a distant driver making his way home. Stretching out my arms to Ariel and Kelsey, laughing in the sun. The music swells until I can barely contain it, but I choke the tears down. I cannot trust myself to cry. Not yet.

It's Kaj who calls me back. I have slowed to a halt, sitting on the swing before my friends, my head in my hands.

"Anne," he says, and my eyes begin to focus once more on the sweet green grass and the hard cement of reality. From a little distance away, the sound of the voices of children begins to resonate, six tiny bones inside my head catching the notes of their conversation. I raise my head and see the three in front of me. Kelsey and Alicia are speaking softly to one another, and Kaj is looking in my direction with an expression I cannot quite place. No matter; I'll get it eventually.

"Why are you sitting there all alone? Come over here," he continues.

I do that. Then, for awhile, I stay beside the others, watching the sun go down between the apartment buildings. And the sky is filled with a radiance like a Piccardy third, a radiance that someday I will smile at and say, I remember.

And...there is so much more.

Poor spent sky.

I watched The Sixth Sense for the first time today, in Rachelle's living room with the volume turned up high enough to hear all the whispering. The dvd was a little dirty or something so we didn't actually see that scene (they don't know they're dead), and by the end we were both almost in tears. Well, I was. It was so touching.

Otherwise, Rachelle broke a (ginger) beer bottle and the sky lost all the beauty it held last night, dripping out in slow rivulets through the clouds. And I am proud to have assisted that spectacle.

Mmmm...I long for the sweet taste of excitement. At this point I'd be thrilled to have something happen to someone else. I've long given up on my own life (see one of the posts I wrote in Turkey) but at least I can watch my friendses.

I love swings. Transfixing. Floating. Jenna, you better get home soon.

Grey, grey, grey. Light, lightning, where have you gone?

Never mind, it wasn't important

-www.explodingdog.com

Half an hour at La Ronde.

"And by great relationship, I mean he hides in a hole and I make funny noises. Actually, that's kind of like my relationship with everyone."

-Kelsey (on a gopher)

I spent a fantastic day with Kelsey today. What did we do? Well...we talked. No, really.

Isabelle and Alanna were supposed to go to La Ronde as well, but Isabelle sadly could not. Here is how the day worked out. Kelsey and I met at school (whereupon she began to tell me about why she was up until so early in the morning, and somehow we got to the subject of Bourdeau...). Then we tried to walk down to Pinoli Pizza, backtracking to get up to Monkland -- it's north of Sherbrooke! -- the whole while...talking. Talking and listening, and you may imagine who was doing more of which. Wondering who the people around us really were, and wondering what Kaj would think when his obscure relative told him about the weird girl with the hair and the other one with the koala backback.

Then we walked down to Vendome, took the metro to Berri-UQAM, went to the library, got lost in a small art gallery consisting of the paintings of some obscure abstract artist, got on the metro again, walked from the station to La Ronde, went to the fountain only five minutes late for our 3:00 appointment with Alanna...and then, unfortunately, she too called and cancelled. So we went on two rides (the teacups are the best therapy in the world!), bought two sno-cones (both for Kelsey), and left. We then wound up walking, once more, all the way back from Vendome. Talking, often about rugby, or dogs.

And Kelsey is really such an awesome person. But you knew that. Anyway, no further musings. Got them all out earlier today. Now, as for tomorrow....

Oh, yeah. Ya gotta love the artificial flavour.

Sleepwalking and insomnia

I spent most of last night awake, for the second time in a row. Whether it was the heat or the fact that I hadn't eaten much that day or the music playing in my mind or simply my mentality I cannot be sure. If you have ever lain awake for too long you will understand that when you say you can't sleep, you can't sleep. And there is nothing worse if you want to sleep than panicking, which is exactly what I do.

I was concious of things in an entirely different way, of course. I was still posessed of the power of reason, but my line of reasoning was completely altered, causing me to think and do some pretty bizarre things. This, of course, is nothing new -- I have inherited from both sides of my family a habit of strange nightly antics. One of the most recent of these famed episodes of my barely concious brain making itself noticed was when I rushed into my parents' room, all out of breath, to ask them where Kim was. (This was around the time of the infamous science fair project.)

Mom: Kim isn't here, sweetie. I think you should go back to bed.
Me: No...no.
Mom: (laughing) Do you know where you are?
Me: Yes, I know exactly where I am! (stomps back to room)

There have been many, many of these over the course of my life. Also notable is the time I fainted the night before my clarinet exam. However, I worry more about the fact that I am known to call out in my sleep. Most of the time my mother assures me it makes less sense than the rantings of a feverish lunatic, but I still fear that someday someone is going to find something out that they aren't supposed to know.

My brother, on the other hand, is notorious for sleepwalking. I'm not sure whether it's a guy thing to get up and go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, but it's definetly a JT thing to end up in the most un-bathroomlike places, such as the attic or the closet.

Never mind the effects of drug-induced sedation. Just come over to my place at two in the morning.

Epilogue (thursday): Last night I slept for nine hours.

Goodbye Isabelle. Jenna, I hope you're having fun.

Point me at the sky and let it fly.

This paragraph is from Point me at the sky, which I've played (very uncharacteristically) over fifteen times in the past twenty-four hours. I played it six times in a row before trying (and utterly failing) to sleep last night, which was a mistake because it then played over and over in my head while I was trying to sleep. Then this morning I woke up and played it eight times, and then just now...anyway.

Isn't it strange how little we change
Isn't it sad we're insane
Playing the games that we know end in tears
The games we've been playing for thousands and thousands and thousands....

What I like about it is the way that the last line is unfinished, the rhetoric cliche ('of years') merely implied. Remind me to try that sometime.

I tried to swim today, but that didn't turn out too well.

No, no, no. I'm gonna hold on, no matter.

Smiling, finally.

I'd just like now to acknowledge Kelsey and Ariel, because one phone call to them rescued a terrible day from the depths of hell. Thanks, guys.

Now if only I could do that.

Effervescing Elephant, Syd Barrett

An Effervescing Elephant
with tiny eyes and great big trunk
once whispered to the tiny ear
the ear of one inferior
that by next June he'd die, oh yeah!
because the tiger would roam.

The little one said: "Oh my goodness I must stay at home!
and every time I hear a growl
I'll know the tiger's on the prowl
and I'll be really safe, you know
the elephant he told me so."

Everyone was nervy, oh yeah!
and the message was spread
to zebra, mongoose, and the dirty hippopotamus
who wallowed in the mud and chewed
his spicy hippo-plankton food
and tended to ignore the word
preferring to survey a herd
of stupid water bison, oh yeah!

And all the jungle took fright,
and ran around for all the day and the night
but all in vain, because, you see,
the tiger came and said: "Who me?!
You know, I wouldn't hurt not one of you.
I'd much prefer something to chew
and you're all too scant." oh yeah!
He ate the elephant.

Fed up.

That's it. I'm changing things around.

My blog is beginning to annoy me. Why? It isn't focussed enough. It rambles. It's un-bloglike. Rambling is fine in itself, but only if the rambles are interesting, and what I have been writing since school let out has not been interesting even by my standards.

I didn't have a central idea when I started the blog, but I don't think that's the problem. I just haven't written a decent Idea Blog in ages -- only that bilge I discussed in an earlier post.

Although the idea is somewhat appealing, I'm not going to start over with a completely new blog. I'm pretty sure this one could be salvaged, if I work on it a bit.

Here's an attempt to return.

And she begins once more to blog

Well, I'm back from Çesmealtı/Venice/Florence (and, briefly, Pisa) and I'm sure that of course you'll all be dying for a full recap of the Italy bit. But first I'd like to say that I've had a very good afternoon and I admire Rachelle for her ability to listen to me try to put words together. Also Jenna's leaving for Greece...well, has left for Greece...and I hope she has a very very nice time.

So.

Obviously, Venice. The roads are narrow, the buildings are tall and lean precariously. There are clotheslines strung across the streets; there are spikes in the gutters, placed inside in order to prevent the omnipresent pigeons from nesting above one's doorway; there are songbirds in cages hanging out of windows. The people there are surprisingly friendly. Every second store sells masks. Many rooms are dark and windowless, and the canals are so filthy I was afraid to fall in for fear of corrosion of my flesh.

In short, it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.

Yes, everything is a bloody tourist trap. Yes, Italy bakes in the summer. Yes, the island is small and crowded. Yes, yes, yes.

Landing at the airport was interesting. We flew over water and came closer and closer with nowhere to land in sight until just before we touched down -- on the mainland. Boat or train is necessary to travel to the island of Venezia.

We took a boat. And I took pictures.

That does a nice job of summarizing the trip, actually. I took pictures. I took pictures in Turkey, I took pictures in Venice, I took pictures in Firenze. All told, over six rolls of 24 exposures. Let's see if one or two turn out.

Hm, anyway. The hotel was a renovated palace, which evokes ominous images of high ceilings covered with cobwebs. It was beautiful, actually, though it must have been a small palace. It had a little courtyard where we ate breakfast.

If you ever go to Venice, let me know. I'll give you the address of our favourite restaurant. After ten days of eating out, I have become qualified enough to give out advice.

Well, that's enough for me for now. I'm still recovering from the return.

Happiness is one very strange little bird.

At the gates of dawn

This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

-Don McLean, "Vincent"

Come on you target for faraway laughter

Come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr

and shine....

We have but two choices. To live a life that is typical, predictable, safe, experiencing no extreme emotions, blending into the average. Or to live a difficult life, experiencing only extremes, finding few sanctuaries, being denounced by even one's ex-friends as insane, loony, mad.

The question is, which of these lives is actually more insane?

Come on you raver, you seer of visions,

Come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner

and sh...sh...damn....

Last Day

Sandals

Okay, I’m going to now tell you guys and any eavesdropping shoe manufacturers exactly what I want. Plainish sandals with straps that cross. (The kind of thing they wore in ancient Mesopotamia would be ideal.)

No heels
No flash
No Velcro

Simple? Easy to find in a hot country like Turkey? You would have thought, considering that’s how I bought my last pair of these. No such luck today, when we went to about ten different stores, and I had to act like I understood the shopkeepers when they asked me if I had any particular brand in mind. (Brand? What are these people talking about? I want sandals.) We found nothing. NOTHING. Not even in the men’s section.

And get this: I could not even find a single women’s shoe in my size. In every store, the limit was forty, forty-one…and I generally wear a 42. You think it’s a difference in the diet that gives us bigger feet up in the cold north?

I won’t go into diet right now, because Turkish cuisine is a whole post. But get this: I discovered yesterday that my right foot is actually noticeably bigger than my left. And the same goes for my right pinkie. No wonder I thought my feet were shrinking compared to my mother’s – we were looking at my left foot.

Apricots

Seeing as my grandparents and my family will be leaving the house tomorrow a.m., we decided to round up all the fruit on the trees in the backyard. My great-uncle (five years older than my mother…have I ever told you about how screwed up the ages are in my family? That one is unremarkable by comparison) and I developed a ruse to gather the apricots at the very top of the tree.

Now, this is my great-uncle who once tied some twine onto a wad of money and placed the money on the sidewalk so he could pull it away when someone stooped to pick it up. He is the type oft described as "resourceful."

So what was the ruse? Well, it basically consisted of one person wielding a long pole, and the other running underneath the tree trying to catch the falling 'cots. This latter proved to be quite difficult, for these reasons:

1. It was very windy.
2. Have you ever tried to catch an apricot falling from ten feet up?
3. If they fell and splattered all over the ground, we would eat them. Have you ever seen an apricot splatter? It’s quite impressive…I now have an overwhelming desire to drop a watermelon from the top of Isabelle’s apartment. Anyway. Even splattered, overripe apricot tastes delicious, and it was difficult to resist from allowing them to drop past one’s hand.

Walking

After this, my g.u. and I went walking down the path that leads to the village that leads to the city that leads to the big city where the airport is. We passed ancient olive groves, grapevines, beautiful blue flowers, goats, fig trees, and bizarre vehicles (one of which almost ran me into the ground). And all I could do was stare and bleat, “This is so Mediterranean!”

Occasionally my companion would point interesting things out to me, and would sometimes attempt to explain in my native tongue – but since his knowledge of English is a little less than mine of Turkish, we communicated once or twice through gestures alone.

Then we went down this beautiful alleytypething, and I wished I had my camera, because at the end of it was the beautiful sea, torrent upon torrent of furious wave flying upon the stone steps.

Hosça Kal.

Optimistic? That's an interesting way of putting it. Expectant, perhaps.

Hey, you! Yeah, you!

I found a hermit crab yesterday.

I was looking for shells to bring back home. Small snail shells abound on the beach, but the beauties and freaks that catch the light on a well-dusted shelf are rare finds, in our shallow inlet as anywhere else. Spotting a fairsized conch through the oversized swim mask I had borrowed off my brother, I dove down to snatch it from its resting place alongside a tuft of sea grass.

When I looked at it above the water, I noticed a tiny claw reaching out to prod at the unfamiliar sunlight. I let out a sharp cry of exclamation, hurrying over to where my parents coaxed my sister to swim a few feet. As we watched, a pair of small black eyes appeared, then the creature retreated abruptly to the safety of his familiar abode.

I held that crab, wondering if perhaps it was a sign of Things Happening. I have not gone into detail here about my episode concerning the beach ball, but my father voiced my thoughts when he called it “quite an accomplishment, nearly as much as winning that badminton game.” And that isn't the only instance of a recent event becoming a sort of milestone.

Though, of course, my manner of waiting for things to happen is somewhat inane. I seem to have this idea that by sitting at home and waiting, I am enticing said Things Happening to up and happen. Okay, that was a little ambiguous. What I mean to say is that I should give up hope of ever leading an interesting life, because I don’t create the right atmosphere for interesting things to happen to me. Darn, let me try again. If I want excitement and adventure, I should get out and look for excitement and adventure. (Which probably means that I won’t find it, but that’s another field of thought…have I gone into that before?)

Still, this summer promises to be the beginning of…what? Nothing worth noting, most probably, but there are…possibilities, perhaps.

Maybe I should try an example. Two days ago, a simple visit of a couple of friends became a campfire gathering, and, later, a dramatic vigil on the balcony – all because of an enormous power outage. During the course of a few hours, I discovered my constellation, re-evaluated my position in the universe, and enlarged my hopes of becoming someone worth being (if only for the duration of fifteen minutes).

And then there were fireworks.

Perhaps the adventure lies in the interpretation of events – my family members seemed not to notice – but can I not dream?

I miss you guys. I love being here, listening to my father’s harmonica from the balcony, breaking bean pods with my great-grandmother, and above all the sea (woe betide my future daughter, if she comes into being. I’ve decided to name her Thalassa)…but I miss a world where something plays on the radio besides a bizarre mix of traditional Scandinavian music and psychedelic jazz. Monotonous though that world can be, there is no tedium when I am around people who can make the moon rise gold.

footprints in the sand

Happy Canada Day.

I sat outside drinking ayran and remembering last Canada Day when we went to Ariel's. I then had some cold pudding with cinnamon (the best kind) and came downstairs into the cool basement to write my latest thought:

I wish there were fireworks.

We're going to Italy on Wednesday, so after then you'll have to cope with not hearing my pointless rants for awhile.

Because starfish grow back, even when they are cut into pieces.